


Who Said You Were A Ninja?

by SketchBooked



Category: Lego Ninjago
Genre: Angst, Gen, Ice Emperor, Kinda, Mild Blood, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred, Torture, Zane needs a hug, he's like a remnant of the ice dood, zangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:55:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29081220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchBooked/pseuds/SketchBooked
Summary: Post season 11Zane takes a moment to think about who he is after the events of the Never Realm and if he's the same person at all.orZane mental health go brrr
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	Who Said You Were A Ninja?

**Author's Note:**

> ehhh it was a vent but people liked it on Tumblr so I posted it here. Good to know this fandom has a collective liking to Zane sad times.

What words does he use to describe his emotions? Conflicted? Suppressed? A sense of comfort heavier than the actual weight he has to carry? Because all of those come so close and yet so far to what he feels. He knows he can explain it, just not with words.

He can put it into code, a language he understands better than anyone. He can see how anyone feels through code. But no one else can see how he feels through it.

**Useless**.

One of himself thinks.

A machine he might be, but was he not built to emulate life? He should know how to express these thoughts and yet he doesn’t. Maybe that’s just it. Maybe he doesn’t want to express himself. Maybe he wants to stay cooped up in his room and do nothing. _But He spent so long doing nothing already_. It’s too close for comfort. He’s too close to _Him_. That man--No, not a man-- That monster, worse than a monster, that he still felt lurking in his mind.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t had the thought of putting _Him_ away. Putting _Him_ in a box so he wouldn’t have to remember the things _He_ did. But he already tried that on a different monster.

He was built to be perfect, built to protect, and yet when he now finds himself in a position above another. He’s ready to strike. He’s ready to make them feel as cold as he always was. He never used to feel that. The old Zane could never consider harming another beyond bruises and scratches. So he finds himself between a rock and a hard place when he holds his shurikens above the neck of a petty thief, utter terror reflected in the nindroid’s cold steel glare. _That fear. That’s what He’s after_. That’s what the **Emperor** is after.

  
  
  


He and his friends had returned to the monastery that same day Zane had scared a man to near death. No one spoke to him. And he spoke not, to the silence.

Zane only retreated to his room, his solace, his peace. Making dinner was not his responsibility for the night, nor was it a necessity to eat, only a privilege. A privilege _He_ did not have.

So he added to the number of times he took to his room to simply feel. After being brought back to Ninjago after decades in _His_ realm--No, not _His_ realm-- The Never realm, He’d politely requested to not be disturbed if he were to go to his room. Usually, privacy was only a fantasy. They all lived so closely together that simply knocking was unheard of. They quickly began to respect Zane’s wishes when Jay had once disturbed Zane after a, particularly draining mission. The Lightning menace could only describe the look his friend had given him as _“A look from death itself”_.

So here he was, holding his trembling legs in his arms as he curled up in a ball upon his bed.

Two conflicting, tugging sensations pulled at the controls of his brain. A sort of self-hatred, and an icier grip that he would only call a demon of the cold.

**It was a justifiable act**.

 _But he was so scared_.

 **Then he won’t do it again**.

_But that’s not what a ninja does._

**Who said you were a ninja?**

  
  


Twisting. That’s the word he would use to describe his emotions. Maybe they weren’t emotions. They could be described as feelings but not emotions.

Sensations? Not the word either.

Days he’d spent in this loop. Surely his friends would notice soon. If he didn’t pull himself out of the hole he’d dug himself, he’d have a lot of questions without answers that he’d need to not-explain. _Does that make sense?_

**No**.

He spent most of his time thinking, looking through his code. He understands code. Human emotions don’t make sense. Sometimes he’d find memories in the incorrect file. Small moments he could easily forget about in their wrong box. He wouldn’t really forget. Perfect memory. That is until people try to **_change_ ** him.

Shivers, not from the temperature, but from recollection, shoot their way through him. _Pain. So much pain_. He’d been in pain before.

**_I caused pain too_**.

An anguished cry escaped him as he throws himself over to the edge of the bed, holding his front like he were about to be sick. He felt so sick. _Why those thoughts? Don’t bring back those thoughts!_

  
  


**Too late...**

  
  


Flash. And there’s a white and blue intensity greater than the sun that abuses his visuals.

Another flash. And a searing violent chill illudes him and makes him feel warm.

A third flash. And the white he found a strange comfort in, turns red. A figure below him.

And another. Cold dead eyes that could rival his own stare vacantly back at him.

It keeps coming. ~~Zane~~ The Emperor descends his throne in a manner equating to that of a predator to its prey.

A final flash. And in the stained red ice below the lifeless figure, he sees his own hideous reflection. He is the Ice Emperor.

  
  
  


Screaming now, he drags himself from _His_ throne room, pulling his shattered mind from those memories. But who is he pulling from the depths? How can he be sure he is himself? How can he be sure he knows who he is when he’s awake if he can’t tell who he is when he’s alone in his sleep?

Torture. That’s another good word for this. It’s torture. But only half of him hurts. It’s the other half that’s doing it. He does this to himself. He knows. But he can’t bring himself to face that monster. He can’t find the willpower to face that demon, the one who plages his thoughts with blood, with violence, with **screams**.

It’s the screams that make him feel like crying. He hates the screams, doesn’t he? He hates the fear and agony ripping and reaving at the faces and voices of those who stand before him. 

_Right?_

So if he hates the fear and agony he instils in people, then why does he think back to the petty thief he chased, he mentally and physically scarred, the thief he watched wriggle under his grip as he pressed the blade of the shuriken harder into his neck, as that same red from his memories trickle down and puddle under him.

And smile?

  
  


**You’re not a ninja.**

  
  


**You’re a tyrant.**

**Author's Note:**

> 👏👏👏
> 
> Man needs a hug.
> 
> Genuinely just a vent but people liked it.


End file.
